


all in a midsummer night’s routine

by n_owsy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Family Dynamics, Family Shenanigans, Gen, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Canon Compliant, POV Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), SBI Family Dynamic AU, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, because this was a rant i typed out before falling asleep, but its not canon, non-canon, takes place in the dsmp, this is the only kind of humor i’ll ever write and i’ll ever know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_owsy/pseuds/n_owsy
Summary: His sleep schedule sucks, and that’s all you need to know about Philza Minecraft’s midsummer night routine in this household.Or: SBI FD!AU about Sleepy Bois Inc. being actually sleepy and are either sleep-deprived or staying up at obscene hours of the night while bullying their adoptive father to bed. Philza Minecraft is just a tired, tired man.(God bless Philza Minecraft.)
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 113





	all in a midsummer night’s routine

**Author's Note:**

> just a disclaimer: non-canon. hell if i know which world/timeline this is set in. probably the dsmp, but this isn’t set in canon because technoblade and all the rest turned down the fd au dynamic, but hell if i’m letting go of this. sbi can only try yank this away from my cold, dead hands.

Sleep sucks.

Maybe he’s a little wrong. His sleep schedule sucks, and that’s why he fucking hates this.

Phil has known this for a long time — he has known it deep in his bones as he gets dragged along by his children. That silent hatred for the notion _of sleeping under the blanket when it’s a promising night for adventure_ just simmers even more as his own kids call him  grandpa  and bully him to bed. _Please_. He’s only half-a-stack years old.

 _This is so unfair_ ,  he wants to grumble like a child. In his mind, he really hasn’t aged yet. He’s young enough to keep exploring new worlds without the need for a wheelchair, and he knows he’s young enough to grumble like a child whenever he feels like it.

“I hope you all know that none of you can force me to sleep,” he says instead, with eyes up to the ceiling, simply because he’s young — but not petty enough to be a child.  


Tommy is currently trying to shut up on purpose _(_ _ and he’s failing)  _ while stifling his snickers under his hand; Wilbur is singing him an awful lullaby with a random out-of-tune guitar he picked up from God knows where; and Techno is making Phil use his own fucking pickaxe to escort him to bed. As if he needs a goddamn cane.

It’s like they’re visiting him in a nursing home instead of his house. And you know what? He’d certainly avoid nursing homes if he could say anything about it. He loathed those places a burning passion even greater than his non-existent sleep schedule.

“Okay, but go to bed, old man,” Techno nudges him along, while Wilbur —  _fucking Wilbur _ — pokes him in the back with the head of his guitar, not missing a note of his off-tune beat.  _Jesus fucking Christ_. He feels like dragging his hand along his face as Techno almost manhandles him up the stairs and Tommy breaks the silence for the sixth time, cackling. Wilbur still hasn’t stopped singing yet.

But hey — here’s the thing. Despite all the man-handling and the fact that Techno almost gave up, threw Phil over his shoulder, clambered up the stairs and wrestled him to his bed, Phil has had enough time to ponder about the concept of sleep. He has this all figured out.

Sleep is a sham.

A universal bane for ever single living organism out there. It slides like a tiny, tiny needle in your skin and injects a happy little slow-acting poison that puts you out of commission for at least eight hours a day. It’s like God must’ve known there was something to be afraid of in the tiny spiteful specks of existence that he himself placed on separate different worlds. It was a good precaution, Phil acknowledges, until he remembers the fact that  _ yeah, he  is  one of those tiny mortal specks that God is so afraid of and damn right, he should be afraid of him. _

(“I think it’s time for the nursing home, boys,” Tommy whispers as they surround him while Phil angrily mumbles under his breath. Wilbur has stopped singing that horrid shit, and he’s now smoothing over the wrinkles on Phil’s blanket. Techno just nods in agreement. It’s like they almost forgot that he was also here.

He doesn’t have to chase them out of the room — but he does pull out his netherite shovel and they scatter like ants. Tommy shrieks like he’s being chased, Will is just  laughing his ass off and Techno just closes the door pointedly. 

_ Why does he have a netherite shovel? _ You might ask.

The answer is  _ none of your business, _and he thanks _past him_ for having the insight to make a netherite shovel.)

So he huddles into his covers and he grumbles, preparing for the night. His eyelids are growing heavier.

This is arguably the worst part of the night. It’s the worst phase of falling asleep where your soul is still fully awake while your body just shuts down and crumbles to the pressure of human needs such as sleep and rest.

This state of _being stuck in your body while you want to visit the otherworld and dream about a peaceful world_ sucks, and this is why Phil utterly loathes sleep.

For fuck’s sake. He _is_ a  father.  He has adopted at least three feral grown-ass children and ever since, he has never known any kind of _peace or rest or quiet_ in this fucking household. Sleep is a useless concept and it is absurd to hope for any semblance of it. He’s lucky if he can go  three days  without having to get up in the middle of the night and intervene with parental authority — and that’s the only reason why he’s still half-awake. He’s only stuck in this phase because he almost always  has  to wake up or shit is going to hit the fan.

Parental authority is a myth that doesn’t exist or matter when you have three grown children who do whatever the hell they want to do and all you can do is drag them away from their problems.

He once found Wilbur stumbling outside while flirting with livestock. Phil remembers his horror as he saw Will kneeling on the ground and making kissy faces at the sheep through the fences with tired eyes that yelled  _ help me. _Tommy has this weird habit of going outside to look for a skeleton, tackling it and dual-wielding sticks to hit its’ ribcage wildly like some sort of demented xylophone — all while humming the Able Sisters’ theme song off-key and he can’t remember how many times he had to pull the gremlin off a poor, miserable skeleton mob unfortunate enough to cross paths with Tommy.

Techno’s a little more reasonable, considering that he’s the one who stays up later than most of them and has basically lived his entire life in a constant state of sleep deprivation. He either just stares at an ice block or farms potatoes as he monologues about the Arctic Empire or waxes poetic about how he’s gonna  _ Martian  _ the hell out of Squid Kid’s record, _that potato nerd_. 

That’s just how they all cope with either sleep deprivation, boredom or if they’re just in the mood too. Phil can’t control them, and mostly just gets involved because he’s also living under the same roof. It would be faster if he just made them get over it after giving them some kind of obscure life advice that he just pulls out of nowhere.

He thinks he misses the days where he just collapses into bed, skips this entire process of waiting and passes out. Those were the days where he didn’t adopt any child yet — and had no children to supervise.

It feels like sleep itself is just an annoying limit now to avoid overtaxing your body and making sure it rests or something. It imprisons your soul while gleaning your most vulnerable memories. He could practically see the baby zombie zooming towards him in his mind’s eye. That one moment of complete horror and disbelief plays repetitively as his body slowly eases itself into a temporary state of paralysis.

It sounds terrifying — but Phil mentally sighs in relief, ignoring the memory of a baby zombie giving him a fucking heart attack. He’s almost about to go to sleep now, and his body relaxes under the covers.

Sleep doesn’t kind of suck now, but it’s the phase that does. It’s the phase _between sleep and the outside world does that paints the world in a haze and stealthily snatches your moments of clarity further away from you_ that he loathes so much. Sleep is so much more appealing and safe now that’s he sure nobody’s about to fuck shit up while he’s gone. It’s been hours now anyway — they’ve probably all called a truce and fell asleep. 

Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow to see tons of small chicks and pieces of egg shells on the fucking roof or some horrific shit on his green carpet or something, and that’s fine. He can always deal with it later.

His eyes blink slower until he doesn’t open his eyes anymore, but he welcomes it.

* * *

( _Hahahaha, sike._ The universe cackles at him as both Tommy and Wilbur break down his bedroom door, yelling _Philza Minecraft_ and he shoots out of bed, sitting up and feeling like he’s almost about to get a heart attack. 

He’s still a bit out of commission and _maybe, just maybe, he’s getting a little older,_ but Wilbur has half of a sack of dog food over his shoulder and Tommy is rambling about  _something something the Hound Army_ — “Did you fucking piss off the Hound Army?” Phil asks, bewildered — and there is barking right outside his house.

”What the fuck,” Phil had said at the moment, and Tommy starts saying something about how it apparently started with they found Techno passed out in the other cabin outside, surrounded by his dogs and  had planned to carry off the sleeping man into his bedroom somehow by use of  _fucking redstone or some shit, I don’t know, Wilbur thought it was a great idea_ and tried to lure the Hound Army away with dog food but _it fucking failed_ and now Technoblade is still peacefully _sleeping like a goddamn baby_ while the Hound Army chased after them like dogs from hell, only foiled by an iron door.

Phil grumbles about  _something something losing his fucking sleep_ , but he gets up anyways. It’s all in a midsummer night’s routine.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is for manu shroomcritic. you tommy kinnie. i fucking went to sleep despite wanting to tell you to fuck off about the doc hudson slander because sleep sucks. i mean i love sleep, but i hate that phase between sleeping and being awake, you know? that really sucks.
> 
> tried to make them not as ooc as possible but... [shrugs]. can’t always keep winning.
> 
> kudos n comments are appreciated! feel free to talk w/ me about sbi boys being sleepy and having tons of shenanigans that they can barely remember in the morning :)


End file.
